“We’ve winged her, Yardley,” observed the skipper. “What now?”
The lieutenant shook his head.
“I hardly know, sir.”
“Neither do I,” confessed Maynebrace.
“We could put her down.”
“With most of her former officers and crew either triced up on the upper deck or under hatches—that won’t do,” objected the lieutenant-commander. Then, a thought striking him, he inquired: “Is the whaler in sight?”
“Dead astern, sir; about two miles off.”
“H’m. Look here, Yardley, I’m going to put the wind up these Chinks badly.”
“Good egg, sir! How, might I ask?”
“Ask Cotterdell and the sub to come here; then I’ll explain. It’s going to be a ticklish business and if I, or any of us, get knocked out, the others must carry on as long as there’s a man left on the upper deck. There must be no bungling. I’m going straight for the Supreme at full speed. So will you ask the others to come this way?”
Lieutenant Yardley positively gaped.
His superior officer’s declaration left him speechless. Maynebrace was going to ram! But with what results? Buster would probably cut the tramp completely in two and concertina her own bows in the process. As likely as not, she’d strip the blades from her propellers, through fouling wreckage. The Supreme would sink like a stone and then the British captives tied to her rails would go down with her.
“The Owner must be as mad as a March hare,” thought Yardley. “If he carries this stunt out and doesn’t have the luck to stop a bullet, he’ll be court-martialled and sent on the beach!”
“Buster’s made our number, sir!” reported the coxswain of the whaler.
“Our recall?” asked Raxworthy.
“They’re semaphoring us, sir.”
The petty officer, balancing himself on the stern bench, held a pair of hand-flags in the “acknowledgment” position.
From the destroyer’s bridge a signalman was sending out a message:
“Captain to whaler. Lay off and wait till we close with you. Keep outside range of rifle fire.”
“Acknowledge!” ordered the midshipman briefly; then, “Lay on your oars, lads!”
The whaler was now about a mile dead astern of the destroyer, and half as much again from the Supreme—near enough for the midshipman to see what was taking place by means of his binoculars, and yet beyond the range of a rifle.
He felt rather squashed over the signalled order. Why couldn’t Captain Maynebrace recall the whaler and give her a chance of taking an active part in the scrap? It seemed to him, too, that the sooner he got the two rescued Mercantile Marine officers on board, the better, for both were showing obvious signs of distress after the harrowing time through which they had passed.
All hands were now watching Buster and the tramp. The former was moving slowly on a course at right angles to the Supreme, which was now at a standstill and blowing off steam. Except for a few rounds from her quick-firers at the beginning of the scrap, the destroyer had remained silent, ignoring the furious and ineffectual rifle fire from the captured British tramp.
Raxworthy, too, realized that so far the position was a stalemate. The pirates would not surrender; and although Buster could have sunk the ship either by torpedo or gun-fire, the reason for his restraint was obvious. It was his duty to recapture the Supreme, so that she could be handed back to her lawful owners, and it was certainly not her commanding officer’s intention to sacrifice deliberately the lives of the prisoners in an attempt to regain possession of the pirates’ prize.
Even as Raxworthy looked, the destroyer turned fifteen points to starboard, and, rapidly increasing speed, bore down upon the stationary tramp.
The “bone in her teeth” assumed great proportions as Buster’s speed increased. Through his glasses, Raxworthy saw that except for the Owner and two seamen on the bridge, no one was visible on the destroyer’s deck. The guns’ crews were lying in a prone position, and probably everyone else on board was doing the same.
“By Jove! It’s ‘prepare to ram!’ ” he exclaimed.
“Seems like it, sir,” added the coxswain. “Gosh! There’ll be a most unholy smash. The old girl’ll cut through the tramp like going through a bit of cardboard.”
The rifle fire from Supreme increased. It was now at almost point-blank range; but curiously enough most of the bullets flew high over the bridge, cutting chips from the mast and signal yards.
That could only be accounted for by the fact that the pirates had been firing with sights raised to extreme elevation, and that in the excitement they had forgotten to put them down.
Excitement gave place to panic when the Chinese realized that Buster was about to ram. They had been quite prepared to die fighting to the last, but not to be crushed to a pulp by the terrific impact.
Almost with one accord the terror-stricken pirates threw down their arms and jumped overboard, without even waiting to carry out their amiable intention of cutting the throats of the “foreign devils”, who were still lashed to the staunchion rail.
Many of the pirates were unable to swim. None of their comrades offered to help them. Their fate came swiftly and comparatively mercifully. Those who could swim struck out as hard as they could, to put as great a distance as possible between them and the tramp, which they expected to see go down in a few seconds. Not that the Chinese who kept themselves afloat entertained any hopes of saving themselves or expected the British bluejackets to save them. The distance to the nearest land was too far for any but the strongest and most determined swimmers. Besides, there were sharks about.
Raxworthy, too, waited for what he thought was to be the inevitable and appalling impact. The destroyer had now worked up to at least thirty-five knots.
Then suddenly she swung round hard to port, listing outwards until the midshipman had a clear view of her upper deck. He could see some incautious bluejackets, who had been lying motionless, slither down the inclined deck until they brought up against some friendly projection.
At the same time Buster’s engines stopped and then commenced to go full astern.
Still turning, she came almost to a standstill within an oar’s length of the Supreme. Grappling irons were thrown, and the two craft brought alongside each other, and in a trice thirty armed bluejackets, led by Cotterdell and Sub-lieutenant Cartwright, swarmed across to the tramp’s upper deck.
Not a shot was fired. There was no need. Not a single pirate remained.
Quickly the British prisoners were cut adrift. The Chinese flag was struck and the Red Duster rehoisted in its place.
Then Maynebrace, who had received a bullet through the fleshy part of his left arm—he considered it a light price to pay for a most successful operation—went aboard the Supreme and received the thanks and congratulations of her skipper.
“That’s all right,” rejoined Maynebrace modestly. “Part of our job, you know. I suppose you’ll be able to carry on without further assistance?”
“I expect so,” replied the Old Man. “We’re one officer and the wireless operator short. The swine threw them overboard——”